Rain intropsection
Aug. 8th, 2006 03:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ickaimpWon't be making it to coffee today. ^^;;
Just thinking about Rain.
First rainstorm I can remember is riding in a car during a summer storm in New Mexico, tiny hail mixed in with the rain on the car windows. Crisp and cooling the area. Summer storms in Albuquerque build up all day, then pour for a few hours in the afternoon, cooling down the area. Flash flood warnings are common, kids are told not to play in the gullies.
Rain in the Jemez Mountains above Los Alamos is a treat, it smells like pine forest, only more so. Everything is richer and more vibrant after and during a summer rain. There are thunder booms, but the thick forest of trees block the view of the lightening. My youngest sister and I would curl up and watch small animals scurry to take shelter in the berry bushes and the firewood pile. We’d try to find them later when we braved the thorns to pick rain washed ripe raspberries.
A lightening storm on the plains during the Fourth of July on the Rocky Mountains overlooking Denver, Colorado painted the sky more colours than the tiny pin-pricks of light that were the fireworks rising out of the city. Roses, auburns, indigos, violets, verdant and chrome.
It doesn’t rain much in Los Angeles. You get the occasional rainy week or two, but that’s really about it. But when it rains, it’s cold and everyone drives funny cause they’re not used to the wet roads and all the oil comes to the surface when it rains. It smells like burnt concrete, sharp and acidic to the nostrils, but not unpleasantly. It frequently drizzles for a couple of hours, and then you get the occasional rain, hard and pounding. The recoil of the drops hitting the ground bounce higher than your shoes, so your lower legs get soaked from all directions. Lightening is rare, and tiny.
Typhoon season in Japan was a system shock. 30c/80f degree weather, pouring rain like buckets, but so hot that you have an umbrella in one hand to keep the rain off and a fan in the other to try to keep cool. The humidity is like a leech, wrapping you in sticky fingers and slowly sapping you of energy. I had a cheap subway umbrella while wandering around, clear blue that I could watch the rain bounce off the plastic.
Rain in Los Angeles never felt right after Japan.
Monsoons in Tucson are the best in my humble opinion. For the month before it rains, it’s hot and dry, over 40c/100f. Then the humidity starts to creep in, the clouds sweeping wide and low across the sky. Thunder rumbles and growls, lightening illuminating the clouds like a spectacular giant version of a child’s night-light. Sunset’s the best time to watch it, the clouds painted golds, pinks and vibrant oranges. The bats start to come out, flittering across the sky.
When night falls, the lightening storms light up the sky, rocking the houses with their booms. The lightening flickers and twines across the sky like giant dragons from a painted scroll, pale blue and silver and white and gold against the dark blues, reds and purple of the clouds. When it does rain, it’s violent, the drops striking the ground like miniature comets falling to the parched dry earth, turning roads into fast moving streams. It’s wild and thrilling and makes everything feel gloriously alive.
Then the heat prowls back in, sharp and familiar, and everything dries again. But it still smells like rain for hours afterwards. Rain in the desert is a passionate thing.
Rain in Christchurch is more subtle. The clouds creep in while you’re not noticing it, then it rains and it rains and it rains. A soft light sprinkle, like being inside a heavy grey cloud, doesn’t stop for hours and hours or days and days. There’s the occasional burst of slightly harder drizzle but then it fades back again, never stopping. The cold it brings with creeps in on insidious padded paws, slowly sinking into everything until you’re never quite warm, there’s always that slight bit of chill in the air, regardless of the temperature. It’s good weather for hot chocolate, warm tea a good book or introspective thoughts.
I miss the warm rains.
Kinda wonder what the rain will feel like the next place we live.
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
impfics: Guard Dog,
'A Toys' Fairy Tale', a Giftfic forkasuchi.
ff.net: That Blasted Red Stone. *grumbles darkly*
Just thinking about Rain.
First rainstorm I can remember is riding in a car during a summer storm in New Mexico, tiny hail mixed in with the rain on the car windows. Crisp and cooling the area. Summer storms in Albuquerque build up all day, then pour for a few hours in the afternoon, cooling down the area. Flash flood warnings are common, kids are told not to play in the gullies.
Rain in the Jemez Mountains above Los Alamos is a treat, it smells like pine forest, only more so. Everything is richer and more vibrant after and during a summer rain. There are thunder booms, but the thick forest of trees block the view of the lightening. My youngest sister and I would curl up and watch small animals scurry to take shelter in the berry bushes and the firewood pile. We’d try to find them later when we braved the thorns to pick rain washed ripe raspberries.
A lightening storm on the plains during the Fourth of July on the Rocky Mountains overlooking Denver, Colorado painted the sky more colours than the tiny pin-pricks of light that were the fireworks rising out of the city. Roses, auburns, indigos, violets, verdant and chrome.
It doesn’t rain much in Los Angeles. You get the occasional rainy week or two, but that’s really about it. But when it rains, it’s cold and everyone drives funny cause they’re not used to the wet roads and all the oil comes to the surface when it rains. It smells like burnt concrete, sharp and acidic to the nostrils, but not unpleasantly. It frequently drizzles for a couple of hours, and then you get the occasional rain, hard and pounding. The recoil of the drops hitting the ground bounce higher than your shoes, so your lower legs get soaked from all directions. Lightening is rare, and tiny.
Typhoon season in Japan was a system shock. 30c/80f degree weather, pouring rain like buckets, but so hot that you have an umbrella in one hand to keep the rain off and a fan in the other to try to keep cool. The humidity is like a leech, wrapping you in sticky fingers and slowly sapping you of energy. I had a cheap subway umbrella while wandering around, clear blue that I could watch the rain bounce off the plastic.
Rain in Los Angeles never felt right after Japan.
Monsoons in Tucson are the best in my humble opinion. For the month before it rains, it’s hot and dry, over 40c/100f. Then the humidity starts to creep in, the clouds sweeping wide and low across the sky. Thunder rumbles and growls, lightening illuminating the clouds like a spectacular giant version of a child’s night-light. Sunset’s the best time to watch it, the clouds painted golds, pinks and vibrant oranges. The bats start to come out, flittering across the sky.
When night falls, the lightening storms light up the sky, rocking the houses with their booms. The lightening flickers and twines across the sky like giant dragons from a painted scroll, pale blue and silver and white and gold against the dark blues, reds and purple of the clouds. When it does rain, it’s violent, the drops striking the ground like miniature comets falling to the parched dry earth, turning roads into fast moving streams. It’s wild and thrilling and makes everything feel gloriously alive.
Then the heat prowls back in, sharp and familiar, and everything dries again. But it still smells like rain for hours afterwards. Rain in the desert is a passionate thing.
Rain in Christchurch is more subtle. The clouds creep in while you’re not noticing it, then it rains and it rains and it rains. A soft light sprinkle, like being inside a heavy grey cloud, doesn’t stop for hours and hours or days and days. There’s the occasional burst of slightly harder drizzle but then it fades back again, never stopping. The cold it brings with creeps in on insidious padded paws, slowly sinking into everything until you’re never quite warm, there’s always that slight bit of chill in the air, regardless of the temperature. It’s good weather for hot chocolate, warm tea a good book or introspective thoughts.
I miss the warm rains.
Kinda wonder what the rain will feel like the next place we live.
impfics: Guard Dog, 'A Toys' Fairy Tale', a Giftfic for
kasuchi.ff.net: That Blasted Red Stone. *grumbles darkly*
